


Mad About The Boy

by Meduseld



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics), Green Lantern - All Media Types, The Flash - All Media Types
Genre: And so much jazz, Dorks in Love, Falling In Love, First Dates, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 05:57:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19350886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meduseld/pseuds/Meduseld
Summary: The story of what was, give or take, Hal and Barry’s first date.





	Mad About The Boy

**Author's Note:**

> For the DC Bingo prompt "Friends to lovers".

"Goddamnit" Barry mumbles, staring at his phone. 

Hal pokes his ribs "Woah, that was a big boy swear. Who blew up a building?" 

Barry shakes his head. The text is a quick note from Joe, there's been a break in the embezzlement case he's working. 

Hal hooks his chin on Barry's shoulder to peek at the screen. Another message pops in, all caps like all of Joe's messages: "GO TONIGHT. HAVE FUN. PROMISE ME". 

"Oh Care Bear. You stepping out on me?" Barry shoves him off while he cackles. 

He slouches back into the corner of the couch he commandeered three hours before when he'd showed up on the West house's doorstep with a six pack a smile and a "Happy day off Baby Bear". 

Barry doesn't know how he knew. He didn't even know Hal was on the planet. And he’s really clueless as to what's going on between them. 

Hal had kissed him, once, and he'd kissed back for about 0.7 seconds before remembering Linda. 

Except Linda was gone now and Hal was still here. And he was poking Barry with his foot: "Earth to Allen. Do you copy?" 

He grabs Hal's ankle and pokes at the big toe peeking out of a hole in the sock. "You need new socks. Do aliens not wear them? Actually what _is_ space fashion like, is it more Star Trek or Barbarella, d-" 

His other foot slams into Barry's hip. "What's going on?" 

His voice is low and concerned and Barry sighs, dropping his head against the back of the sofa. "It's stupid" he says but it's really not. 

He and Joe were supposed to see Mal Duncan tonight at The Savoy, a smoky little hole in the wall with cracked plaster and the best gin and tonics in town. They say Ella Fitzgerald accidentally cracked a mirror in the back that they never repaired and that John Coltrane stayed after his set to drink whiskey with the busboys. 

It’s the first place Barry ever danced publicly and three of his top ten favorite dates ever happened there. 

But it's more than that. Jazz is _their_ thing. His and Joe’s. 

Barry had only been living with the Wests for five months and coping badly, not eating, barely sleeping and running off to catch a Route Nine bus to see his father every chance he got. 

He would have been sentenced, what? Two months before? The minute when it went from "this is only for now, you'll see, it'll be okay" to Joe pulling boxes with his clothes out of storage with a grim determination. 

He'd been too scared to be grateful, too desperate to cling to the past. And then one day Joe had come home early and caught Barry rushing out the door, backpack full of books on real life prison escapes. And three copies of _The Count of Monte Cristo_. 

"Right" he'd sighed and for a moment Barry had been really worried, half confused revenge fantasies replaced with the startling clarity that _actually? This could get much worse_ when Joe had steered him back inside, eyes clouded. 

“You’re helping me get the Halloween decorations out of the attic” he’d said, even though it was weeks too early. Later, much later Barry would realize that it was the only thing Joe could think of, trying to keep Barry occupied and maybe just _talk_ to him for once. While they’d worked Joe had put on some Billie Holiday. 

It took him a while but Barry had worked up the courage to ask him to play her some more. That had led to a trip through Joe’s record collection, rubber bats and plastic eyeballs strewn forgotten between them, until it had been time to pick Iris up from soccer practice. 

On the car on the way they’d played standards until Iris rolled her eyes and asked them to switch the station. 

It had been the first time Barry had let Joe in, their first bit of common ground. It still ties them together now. 

“Sorry, that was a lot to dump on you” Barry mumbles in Hal’s general direction, concentrating on rubbing his toes. Anything to not have to look into his eyes. He’s never told anyone any of it before. 

“It’s not, Bear” he says quietly. His big toe wiggles in the hole Barry’s been unintentionally widening. 

“And he’s right, you should go. Have fun, do a little dance, make a little love. Get _down_ tonight” he finishes with a laugh and Barry finds himself smiling, shoving Hal’s feet out of his lap. 

“Come with me?” he says before he can think about it. 

“Can I wear this?” he says, poking his foot into Barry’s face with a laugh. 

Barry shoves him off the couch entirely with a smile. 

*

“This isn’t a date” he blurts the second he opens the door and Hal is wearing a suit without a tie, open enough to show a tantalizing piece of tanned chest, and a smile. 

The thought has been chasing its own tail inside Barry’s brain since Hal picked himself up off Barry’s floor and disappeared out the door with a vague promise to be back later and presentable. 

Which he delivered, looking like he walked off a GQ cover even though Barry would bet he’s never spent more than 50 dollars on a single piece of clothing in his life. 

“So I got all dressed up for nothing?” he says, eyebrows struggling to make him look faux concerned. Then he bursts into his braying hyena laugh. 

Barry laughs with him, relieved. They take the long way, no flight or super speed, just a taxi where their shoulders settle together easily while Hal charms the driver with a tall tale. They’re both smiling when Barry leads them down the narrow steps to the basement entrance to The Savoy. 

The girl at the door grins, shiny white teeth in a dark face, and suddenly Barry is self-conscious and awkward, struggling not to blurt to her that they’re not together. But he can’t say anything. 

Hal’s hand is warm at the small of his back, propelling him forward, lips soft at his ear “don’t chicken out on me now”. 

His whole body goes tight and Barry takes a step too quickly, nearly stumbling and fleeing for the bar. Hal takes the hint and gets a table, angled perfectly towards the stage but still private, shadowed. 

His profile is breathtaking and Barry almost bolts, feeling like a teenager driven to nausea by the presence of his crush. Then his phone buzzes and it’s an ice water bucket of relief. 

He sends Joe a text of the glasses and realizes his mistake when he’s halfway to the table. 

His phone buzzes “COMPANY?” and he stares at it as Hal tries the gin and tonic and moans. Barry can feel his ears go pink. 

“Trouble? Because I gotta tell you, I might make the Flash handle it alone: this is _a-ma-zing_ ” Hal says and suddenly Barry’s laughing. He sounds like such a Valley Girl that he can’t help it. 

It’s enough to give him the strength to text Joe back quickly and settle in. Being with Hal is a little like riding a bike. It takes a little work when they’ve been apart for a while but then it’s easy. 

He’s laughing before he knows it, even if he doesn’t fully understand the story about the banquet gone wrong on Zitr’o due to a misplaced hat. But Hal’s charming enough to make up for it. 

Barry doesn’t realize just how comfortable he’s gotten, leaning in to whisper over the candlelight even though it’s not necessary, until the music starts up and he practically jumps in his seat. 

Hal laughs, throaty and low this time, and something like a shiver runs up Barry’s spine. But warmer, like a touch he wants to lean into. 

And then Mal Duncan breathes life into his trumpet on the stage and all the world falls away. 

Barry’s not the kind of guy to wax lyrical about anything not firmly in the field of science, except when it comes to this, the blues pouring from Mal’s trumpet like a river of tears until the jazzy vein running through it takes over. 

It’s like this every time for Barry, the happy shock of the way it happens, new every night, the compromise and conflict and the beauty. There’s something about it that transports Barry somewhere else. 

He loses track of time, carried by the sounds, by the way Duncan commands the stage just by being on it, eyes closed and fingers flying. The only other thing in his life that feels like this is running as fast as light itself. 

It’s that thought that makes him remember that he’s not alone at the table, and he turns to Hal expecting the same look. That’s not what he gets. 

Instead Hal is watching at him, chin leaning on his hand, looking half amused, half fond. 

“Oh my God, you hate it” he says. Hal laughs again, closer to the way he usually sounds, turning away to get his drink like he didn’t mean to get caught looking. 

“I don’t _hate_ it I just...yeah, okay, I hate it” he says and Barry’s the one that laughs, oddly relieved. “That’s good” he says

“Good? I knew you weren’t really as sweet as apple pie, Bear. Nice sadistic streak” Hal grouses.

Barry laughs, feeling lighter than he has in too long. Since he got his powers, really. 

“No! I mean it’s good that you can be honest with me. And that you came along anyway” he says, aware that he’s smiling too wide, too fond. 

It’s dangerous territory here, especially with how handsome Hal looks in candlelight, a hank of hair falling on his forehead in a way that makes Barry want to touch him all over. 

“I’m sorry you don’t like it” he says, alarmed at how soft his tone goes. “You’re not, jackass, but you do owe me _this_ ” Hal answers, hands moving rattlesnake quick to pull Barry out of his seat. 

There’s a vertigo lurch when they move, in tandem, towards the dance floor. The tempo of the music has picked up, something with swing in its step, and before Barry can blink they’re flying in perfect synchronicity. 

He doesn't even have time to protest that he has two left feet. 

Not that he does, actually, with Hal leading. With Barry just letting go. 

It's not free fall when you know someone is waiting to catch you. 

Hal moves their bodies the way he makes aircraft sing. There’s nothing in the universe in their way, the music lighting their steps. 

He loses track of time again, the two of them too athletic, in their own ways, to get winded the way normal people do. 

When Duncan starts slowing down, notes humming low and intimate like a lover, it's not a surprise. The lights go blue and Barry rests his head on Hal’s shoulder. 

He smells good and warm. They follow the tune until they're swaying, Barry’s cheek warm on Hal’s neck, pulse beating against it like a caress. 

The thought hits him like a bullet: with just a tiny flick of his chin, they’d be kissing. 

He can almost feel it, the want radiating off of them both, how easy it would be. Hal would let him. Hal would more than let him. 

And there’s a part of Barry, wild and gleeful, that wants to do it. 

To live out the night, like a kid throwing rocks without any idea that there might be consequences somewhere in there. 

They’ve got the makings of a disaster on their hands, the size and color of an inferno in a fireworks factory. 

His lips brush the edge of Hal’s jaw, just a touch, and he angles in, giving Barry free reign. 

There’s a heartbeat, the tingle from the scrape of his stumble making Barry’s lips ache and he’s ready, moving to– the harsh _buzz_ of his cell phone is so sudden Barry actually jumps back. 

Hal laughs. 

"Fuck" he says, out of sorts with skin too tight, and Hal gives in to an all-out cackle. 

He glares, but there's not real fire to it. Not compared to what Heat Wave is apparently up to in the jewelry district. 

By the time he gets the bill, Hal has their coats at the door, ring alight with promise.

*

It's ridiculous, really, just how fast they get the job done. 

Of course, between the two of them, it's probably like using an elephant gun to kill a quail. 

Even the clean-up doesn't take long, mostly because Barry refuses to acknowledge any of the officers on scene, full of a nameless spiky frustration even if he feels kind of like a jerk about it. 

Not that Hal cares, so far above beat cops on the food chain that he follows Barry's lead and beats a quick retreat. 

"You got the drinks so I'll get the chow" he says with a wink and a nod at a hotdog cart, the only thing even close to an eatery that's still open at this time of night. It's the only thing that keeps him from running straight home to hide, unsure where they stand now, if it's anywhere at all. 

That and the fact that he doesn't know how to answer Joe's latest text: “YOU OK?”  

"I didn't know what you wanted so I got you everything" Hal says, devastatingly casual, handing Barry a loaded down dog as he lands lightly on the roof Barry's commandeered. 

It's not the first time, he likes the view and it's not residential, the potential for interruptions is low. 

Hal hums as he digs into his own meal, or it might be the sound of the green glow around him. Idly, Barry wonders if he bought the hotdogs that way, or if he switched off the light show. 

The sense memory of that open suit, the one he’s still wearing underneath,  pressed against him makes him shudder, in a way he can't be sure is good or bad. 

"Sunrise" Hal says, elbowing his ribs and yes, the golden glow of dawn is rising over the city. He can't remember the last time he stayed out all night. But maybe it doesn't count. The thought is a little sad. 

"Did you have fun?" he asks, suddenly anxious. "Oh yeah, Bear, you hit all the highlights" Hal says with an empty sort of grin, like maybe he's lying or just being polite. 

Or thinking about what they very pointedly didn't do.

And just like that Barry has to kiss him. 

He moves a little too fast for the bubble of light still around Hal's face, melting away when Hal gets what Barry's going for, the sensation a little like breaking the surface of water. 

Hal tastes like relish and cheap bread, his tongue so clever Barry could cry from it, scrabbling into his lap like maybe he's drunk. 

He feels it a little, the lift in his veins. Hal's arms keep him steady, strong around his middle and pulling him close and Barry is, all at once, both deliriously happy and completely terrified. 

"I just want to say– he manages to pant between kisses, Hal's tongue doing something unspeakable to the hinge of his jaw –that I don't put out on the first date" even though his hands, playing along the edges of Hal's shirt, want to make him a liar. 

"That's okay" Hal rumbles, low and dirty, bring their hips together in a way that makes Barry's vision go a little white, "you said this wasn't a date". 

Before he really thinks about it, his hands push Hal down flat. "I mean it" he says, sounding wild. 

"Barry, man, what the fuck do you want from me here?" Hal says, covering his face with his hands like he's only just keeping it together. 

And the truly horrifying thing is, Barry doesn't know. 

He wants to have sex with Hal on this rooftop in the dawn's light, like he's the kind of person that does those things. 

He wants to go home and pretend tonight never happened. 

He wants to go back to yesterday, with Hal on the couch like he belonged there, his best friend in the whole world. 

What comes out of his mouth is, "grinding and making out is good but maybe a shower?" And then he goes pink. 

Hal just looks at him for a long moment. 

"Okay… like with me in it or?" And Barry can't help but laugh and collapse into his chest. 

Hal cups his hand around the back of Barry's head like maybe Barry's going to shove him off. He doesn't. 

"You drive me crazy" Hal whispers, and Barry's not actually sure he was supposed to hear it. 

"Not with you in it, this time. But you can sleep in my bed and after we can have a real date?" he says, because it's all he can think of, now. How much he wants that.

Hal tilts his head, a sly little smile playing on his lips. "Before I say yes, just how many dates does it usually take to get you to put out? For reference". 

Barry laughs again and kisses his neck. Hal kisses his forehead, his nose, his lips. 

"I can wait, Bear" he says, soft and serious.

 And there's really only one thing Barry can say. 

"Third date. But you might just get lucky". 

Hal cackles, delighted, as the city finally starts to wake up. 

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this was planted eight million years ago, when _The Flash_ [1x13 came out](https://arrow.fandom.com/wiki/The_Nuclear_Man) and Barry was a total dork about having a perfect date with Linda and listening to [Mal Duncan](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mal_Duncan). And then I found [this annual where they literally go on dates and Barry loves jazz while Hal doesn't](https://comicvine.gamespot.com/articles/exclusive-preview-the-flash-annual-2/1100-146919/). I made up The Savoy, but obviously not Ella or Coltrane. Or the wonderful song that gives this fic its title [(here's my favorite version, enjoy)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=STTLwI-u4Fg).


End file.
